


Schrödinger's Life

by buffyaddict13



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Alex Romero (mentioned), Angst, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Episode 5x10 The Cord, Gen, Memory Loss, Mother (Bates Motel), SoulBates - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffyaddict13/pseuds/buffyaddict13
Summary: He wakes to sunshine and Mother’s smile.  He can’t tell which is brighter. She is alive and she is perfection in human form. He doesn’t want to tell her about the endless nightmare he’s had about her death, but he does anyway. He can’t keep secrets from Mother.





	Schrödinger's Life

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I captured Norman believably, but I tried. I wanted a fic where we see how Norman felt during the series finale. When I couldn't find one, I wrote my own. Not beta'ed. Not a happy fic. I feel like Norman is a very tragic character and I'm going to miss him terribly. All the awards to Freddie Highmore.

  
  


Norman is in the holding cell.  He is on his knees. He is cold.

Norman is outside. He is on his knees. He is cold.

He is in the holding cell.

His is in the snow.

The cement is hard beneath his knees.  The snow shifts beneath his knees.  He is wet and cold.  Norman blinks. Romero is on his left, a few feet away.  He is dead. Mother is on his right. She is partially buried.  She is dead. She is not dead.

Not-Mother stands before him in a blue coat and tells him she is leaving.  He blinks. He is in the forest. Didn’t he just take his medication?  He remembers Not-Mother forcing him to vomit it back up over the toilet.

Norman stares at her, stunned. And now she is leaving him?  He has no idea what is happening.  “No,” he tells her.  He wants it to be a command, but it sounds like a plea.  He shivers, but it has nothing to do with the temperature. “I’ll have no one.”  His words are barely audible. They don’t have to be since he is speaking to himself.  He has felt fear before, but the knowledge he will be be truly alone is more than he can bear.  He inhales raggedly, panicking.  “You can’t leave me now.”

 “You know everything now.” Not-Mother speaks gently.  The way she had before.  When he thought she was real.  “There’s nothing for me to protect you from,” she admits.

 He stares at her through tear-filled eyes and she blurs in and out of existence. What does she mean?

 “Goodbye, Norman,” she says softly, and then she is gone.

Norman stares at the trees, waiting for her to come back. He searches for a flash of blue coat or blonde hair.  There is nothing but snow and branches and moonlight.

 He is crazy.

 He is sane.

 He is alive.

 He...is dead?

 Norman _wants_ to be dead.  He is having Schrödinger's life.  This thought makes him laugh out loud, but the sound that comes out of his mouth is not happy. His face is covered in blood.  His lip hurts.  His cheek hurts.  His heart hurts.

 He blinks up at the night sky. Hot tears roll into his hair, his ears. _Tyger, tyger burning bright_.  The cuts and abrasions on his face sting.

 He laughs again. Wait, no. That is definitely not laughter.  Maybe there is a wounded animal nearby?  He wishes he could help it, but he is too tired to move.

Pale clouds drift above tall trees. They veil the moon briefly, then are gone.  The moon is an orange pumpkin. Is it Halloween? Norman can’t remember what month it is. Maybe it’s the harvest moon.  But that’s in September and this is clearly winter.  Who is managing the hotel? Is it him? No, he is lying in the snow beneath the stars and the maybe-harvest moon.  His hair is damp, it clings to his forehead and neck, his coat is a wool weight, the snow has soaked through his shirt and sweater to his skin.  Norman’s head hurts. Something is wrong with his brain. Something is wrong with Norman, but he can’t remember what it is.

  _(Mother is dead.)_

Norman was talking to Sheriff Greene and now he is in the forest where Mother is _(buried)_.  He has blacked out again despite taking his medication.  He has no idea how long he’s been...gone. But Not-Mother left him, so maybe the blackouts are over.  Alex Romero is here. Maybe he took Norman out of jail.  Did Not-Mother still love him after all? Did she leave with him? Did she kill Romero?  Did Norman? He doesn’t know.

_(He is alone.)_

He is tired of stumbling blindly through life, here and then not-here.  It’s like he’s in a play and the lines and scenery are always changing.  Maybe if he had been in South Pacific after all, he would remember the right dialogue. Or why he killed Mother.

_(He didn’t mean to.)_

There was a time when Norman had dreams that weren’t nightmares.  He used to dream when he slept instead of while he was awake.  He wanted to go to college. He can remember studying with Emma, writing short stories. Did he show one to Miss Watson? He can’t remember. He feels like he is trying to see through Mother’s beloved stained glass window. There are shapes and images, but nothing concrete.  Nothing real.  Thoughts of college belong to another person. To another life.

 College feels ridiculous now. Why had he ever wanted to leave Mother? Why had he ever raised his voice to her? How could he have been so cruel? What had he been thinking?   _Had_ he been thinking?  Was he thinking _now_?

  _(You killed your own Mother.  You can’t hide from it.)_

Romero’s dead but his words are not.  They echo in Norman’s head.  Norman cannot live without Norma Louise. Mother. _Mom_.  His heart beats, he blinks, he swallows, he speaks, but he cannot _live_.  There’s a cord between their hearts. Mother told him that and Norman believes her. Yes, she lied sometimes, but only to protect him. Always to protect him.  She would never lie about the cord.  And if the cord breaks, so does he.

Norman had Romero’s gun. The gun is gone. Romero is dead. These things are true.

Mother is dead. Mother is alive. Norman is alive. Norman is dead. These things are...true?  False? Both?  He should have read more about quantum mechanics when he had the chance.  Why had he bothered learning French?  Or had that been Not-Mother? He can’t remember.

Romero said Norman killed Mother. He can’t understand how he could ever do such a thing but the sick knot in his stomach, the way he can’t stop shaking, the endless tears leaking from his eyes tell him Romero spoke the truth.  Why would he hurt good, kind, perfect Norma?  He might as well hurt himself. Hurting Norma is so much worse than hurting himself.  A polished rectangle appears in his mind. A gravestone.

  _(Loveliest mother, sweetest friend, most beautiful woman.)_

He stretches one arm out, feeling frantically in the snow. He cannot find the gun. But even if he could, it is empty. The bullets are in Romero. Once he put a gun in his mouth and was going to pull the trigger. He remembers the terrible taste of metal, the cold weight against his teeth, the pain in his jaw, the horror of knowing he was alone. Why hadn’t he pulled the trigger?  He can’t remember, but knows it was a mistake. He has made so many mistakes. There is no one to help fix his mistakes now.

His stomach heaves and he turns his head, coughing weakly into trampled snow. Nothing comes up but shame and grief.

He cannot go forward. Norman cannot live his life without Norma, it’s a fact, a proven equation. Even his name is part of her. They are connected. They belong to each other. If Norman doesn’t belong to Mother, who _does_ he belong to? Surely not himself. He is broken. He is useless. He is a monster. He killed Sam Loomis.  Dark images swim through his consciousness: Miss Watson’s bloodied throat, Bradley’s ruined head, a woman with large silver earrings and a scarf pulled tight around her neck, a gun against Dr. Edwards’ head.  Norman’s stomach heaves again and saliva unspools from his mouth. _No_.

Fresh tears squeeze from his aching eyes. How can he be this person?  Mother would be so disappointed in him. But...he didn’t do those things. Well, except for Sam Loomis. He did kill Sam. His body jerks. His teeth chatter. He should not have done that, no matter what Not-Mother said.

Norman also tried to kill Dylan. Dylan. Norman gags again.  He spits, once, twice, but the guilt remains. His stomach is acid, his throat is too tight, his head has been split open. What is happening? How many times did Romero hit him?  Norman feels like he’s falling, falling, falling, even though he’s flat on his back.  The forest spins.

Wait-- _wait_.

He did not try to kill Dylan.  He _saved_ Dylan from Not-Mother. That was good. That was a good thing. One good thing in an ocean of bad.  And he tried to save Caleb.  Two good things. But he is still drowning.  

Not-Mother was the one who tried to kill Dylan. And wanted him kill Caleb.  The Not-Mother Norman conjured out of thin air. Out of his mind.   _(He is out of his mind.)_  And now he has conjured her back out of existence.

If he conjured Not-Mother, couldn’t he also conjure real Mother? Norman’s eyes squeeze shut and he clenches his teeth. He prays to any God who will listen. He prays to the trees, the snow, the air. He prays to Mother because she is holy and good and he worships her.  She is everything.

Norman tries to will life into Mother with what is left of his mind. He claws at the snow with numb fingers and screams. His back arches and snow works its way down his collar. He doesn’t feel it.  He doesn’t feel anything but blind terror.  He screams until his throat hurts, and then he screams until he can’t. Until his throat is filled with gravel. Until his throat is as broken as the rest of him.

  _(The cord is broken.)_

Norman turns his head. Romero is still there, empty eyes staring.  Norman rolls his head toward Mother.  Norma Louise is as beautiful as ever. And just as dead.  He thinks of a furnace and closed vents and sobs like a lost child, because that is what he is.

Panic floods through him. He clenches his fists. He tries to see into the past, tries to see through the colored glass to reality.  He is drowning in a bathtub. He is drowning in the snow. His heart thunders in his ears. Through the noise, he manages a whisper. His voice is the sound of broken dishes scraping against linoleum.

 “Mother?”

There is no answer. Mother does not speak. Not-Mother is still gone. Norman’s head falls back onto the snow. He is still crying. Did he ever stop? The sky is darker. The moon is gone. The stars blink out. He is a black hole swallowing the light. Death is all around him. He _is_ death.

He is tired of ruining everything. He is _tired_.  Norman exhales a long shuddering breath. So does the wind. Branches rustle above him. The breeze ruffles his matted hair like Mother’s fingers. He lifts one hand and squints at it. It is his hand. Blink. It is Mother’s hand. Blink. It is his. The knuckles are bruised and bloody. His fingernails are tinged blue with cold.

Life has been like this for weeks. Months. Years. Centuries. He is always seeing two images at the same time. Himself and Mother. Mother and himself. They are like double exposure photography. The same, but not. He looks in the bathroom mirror but Not-Mother looks out. He has spent the past _forever_ wandering an empty house, pulling dead dogs and mothers out of the air.  He has constructed existence out of nothing. If it wasn’t so horrible it would be a very good trick.

But he cannot bring Mother back to life. He cannot bring Not-Mother back. He doesn’t even want to. She is a poor substitute for Norma Louise. He should have caught on to her duplicity earlier. Norman’s eyes slip shut. He is so tired. His head hurts so badly. He can feel the broken pieces of his mind grinding together and groans. He rolls over, presses his face into the snow. It is cool.  He thinks of snow angels, of cookies, of Christmas Carols. Of Mother.

_Oh, Mother._

Maybe he can’t bring her back to life.  A dark memory surfaces. Norman in a cold, dimly-lit room, crying, screaming, hyperventilating, desperately trying to breathe life back into Mother, her lips cold against his until Norman’s arms cramp, his knees bleed--

_No._

He shoves the memory back and lets it join the million other bad thoughts hidden in his head. He will let all of those go. Mother would not want him to dwell on such things. He cannot bring Mother back, but he can go to her.  He can go back in time.  Yes, he can put himself back when things were good. When they had a fresh start. Before he ruined everything with his bad thoughts.  

How many times has he waited for Mother to come up with a plan to fix everything? This time it is his turn.  This time he will do everything right.

He will not go to that stupid party. He will be home to protect his mother from Keith Summers. He will not steal Keith Summers’ belt. His mother will never have to sleep with Deputy Shelby. She will be safe. Norman will be good this time. He will be a good son and he will not fight with Norma, he will not fight with Dylan, he will not get jealous, he will be _such_ a good son.

He will talk to Dr. Edwards every day, he will get second job--a third job--so he can pay for therapy, so Mother will never have to marry the Sheriff for his insurance.  He will let Mother hang the Christmas lights however and whenever she wants. He will take medication, he will take _all_ the pills, he will do whatever Norma says, forever and ever and ever, if only they can be together again.

Yes. He can do this.  He smiles, something close to hope stirring in his chest. It is a good plan.

_I’m coming, Mother._

***

He wakes to sunshine and Mother’s smile.  He can’t tell which is brighter. She is alive and she is perfection in human form. He doesn’t want to tell her about the endless nightmare he’s had about her death, but he does anyway. He can’t keep secrets from Mother.

 “I dreamed you’d died,” he whispers, sick at the memory.  Afraid saying it out loud will make it true.

 “Well I didn’t,” Mother says matter-of-factly.  “I’m right here.” She lies beside him, kind and warm and _here_.  “Life is in front of us,” she says with a little nod, and he believes her.

When he opens his eyes to the snow, he knows he is still dreaming.  The part where Mother is alive is real, the part where she is dead is a nightmare.  He can learn how to wake up from the bad dream.  Mother said so.  He concentrates very hard. Norman knows how to be patient. He closes his eyes, then opens them.  

Mother does _not_ know how to be patient.  She tells him pack his shit, so Norman does. They are moving to Oregon and Norma is very excited. She is such a little girl sometimes, so excitable, so curious, so eager.  Norman loves that about her.  Norma always did love new beginnings. They can start over together. _(Forever.)_ Norma waggles her eyebrows at him and makes a face.  Norman laughs.  Happiness courses through him. It is a miracle, this feeling.  Of course Norman is sad Father is dead, but not _that_ sad. Father hurt Norma Louise, and once he told Norman lies about her in the Motel office.  And worst of all was the time a terrified Norman hid under the bed while his father--

Mother swats his arm and his thoughts clear.  She does that thing with her face that means _I love you_ , and _This is so exciting_ , and _It’s just you and me, kiddo_ all at once. She says, “This is the part where you say, ‘Mother, this is so beautiful. I am so happy we're moving here. You are so smart to have thought of this.’” And she smiles. Her face is sunshine. He is safe and warm beside her.

Norman grins back because now, at last, he knows his lines.  There will be no more blackouts, no lost days, no missed dialogue. He is where he is supposed to be.  He pats Mother’s hand fondly and obliges.

 “Mother, this is so beautiful. I'm so happy you're making me move here,” he recites, and then adds with a wry smile: “You're so smart to force me to do things I have no say in.”   

Norma calls him an ass, but she’s laughing. So is he. Mother can force him to do whatever she wants, as long as they are together.  He has learned his lesson. A life without Mother is no life at all.

They arrive at an old hotel and an older house. The sign out front says Seafairer Motel, but that doesn’t matter. Mother will get a new sign made. She poses on top of the car like a Hollywood starlet. Norman has never seen anyone more beautiful.

She ushers him around the big old house like she’s trying to sell it to him.  She doesn’t have to try very hard, because the house is magnificent. They will be happy here. He will make Mother smile and he will buy her flowers and he will play the piano for her and do laundry without her ever having to ask.  Instead of taxidermy he will take up photography and he will cover the walls with Norma Louise’s photo in vintage frames. He will make sure he only takes single exposures. Norma holds his hand and they burst into each room like it holds a secret.  Like the’re discovering a new world instead of a bathroom with cracked tile and a spotted mirror.  She is giddy at their new start and Norman is giddy because she is.

Eventually Norman goes down to check on the hotel.  There is some kind of tape strung around the office. What were the previous owners thinking leaving a mess like this? Norman shrugs, it doesn’t matter. He will clean everything up while Mother naps. She deserves her rest after such a long drive.  He make everything perfect.

Norman feels very professional when the mother and her two boys arrive.  The hotel isn’t officially open, but that’s okay. He manages to check them in anyway.  After all, a single mother with two children deserves a break, especially when one is named Dylan. He watches the boys roughhouse, smiling wistfully. He hasn’t talk to his brother since--

Since--

He can’t remember. It’s been a while. Since Arizona.  He should reach out to Dylan. He needs to be a good brother as well as a good son.  

***

Norman has planned a nice dinner. It will be just the three of them, a mother and her two sons. Just like the motel guests. He spends the next hour cooking.  Mother offers to help, but he tells her to put her feet up and relax. It’s his turn to do something helpful.  It will always be his turn, but he doesn’t mind.  Music plays, the silverware shines. Good smells emanate from the kitchen.  Norman hasn’t been this happy in _years_.  

***

Dylan is _not_ happy. Dylan is nervous, and Norman doesn’t blame him. He and Norma have not been getting along for quite some time. In fact, Dylan is so nervous he vomits all over the dining room rug, but it’s no big deal, Norman will clean it up, easy-peasy. He tries to put Dylan at ease. Maybe Dylan is sick. Does he have the flu?

Norman glances at Mother. She shrugs, as if it say, _Eh, the carpet wasn’t that great to begin with_.  She’s not wrong.

Norman towels off the rug, but Dylan won’t sit down. He is angry and raises his voice and he does not want a nice dinner with Mother.  Dylan follows Norman back into the kitchen.

There is something about Dylan’s tone that is making Norman upset.  Something is going wrong. He can feel it. He throws the towel into the sink.  “Dylan, please don’t ruin it!”  He doesn't want to spoil Mother's dinner.

 “I have to, Norman, you’re not living in the real world.”  Dylan is shouting now.  “You _have_ to live in the real world.  You have to stop this.”

Norman turns to his brother, confused.  He has been in the real world. It is not a good place.  It is a place full of sharp edges and harsh words and pain. _So_ much pain.  It is not a place for him.  He will not go there willingly.  Now he is nervous too.  “Stop what, Dylan?”

“ _Norman._ “  Dylan says his name like it's the answer to a question.  He still sounds angry.  But also sad.  He points toward the dining room.  “Norma is...is dead. Okay?”  Dylan struggles to get his words out.  “This is her body. You brought her body here!”

Norman frowns. Dylan is being ridiculous. Mother is dead in the future, not _now_. This is the past where Mother is very much alive.  

He huffs, annoyed. “Well, I disagree.”  They just drove here all the way from Arizona. A corpse can’t drive. That’s just--just--absurd!

Dylan looks like he wants to cry.  “This isn't something that you agree or disagree with! She's _dead_ , Norman!”

Shadows lurch behind the stained glass. Norman can see himself digging his mother out of the snow, his hands cold, hers colder.  He wrapped her in blankets all afternoon and her skin is still cool to the touch. Norman blinks.  She is alive in the dining room, waiting for him.  He blinks again. She is dead, stiff in the wooden chair, grotesque black rings around unseeing eyes.

Norman shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Stop it!”  He shakes his finger at his brother, furious.  “ _Stop it_ , Dylan!”  This is his fresh start and Dylan is ruining it! “Stop saying that!”  His face feels hot.

“You have to deal with it!” Dylan’s voice breaks.  His eyes shine with tears.  “You need to come and turn yourself in, and we need to get you help!”

Norman tries to imagine this. What would that even entail?  He doesn’t care about jail, but not having Mother?   _No._ Accepting she was gone? Never again.

He moves toward Dylan, chin raised, defiant.  “That's what you want for me? To be shut up in some prison for the criminally insane and be drugged out of my mind?”  

Although...would drugs be so bad?  What if there were drugs that kept Mother around? That kept her with him?  Would such a thing be possible?  And if it were, would Mother really want that for him?  For Norman to be drugged worse than Julian and pining for a Mother he can never have?

_(You killed your mother. You’re going to have to live with that.)_

Wrong. He is _not_ going to live with that. Not any more.

 “I don't know what I want for you!” Dylan screams in frustration. “I want something that can never happen, okay?” His expression is one of misery. Norman can identify.

 “I want you to be happy and I want you to be well.”  Dylan swallows.  “I want Mom to be alive again. I want--I want both of you guys to meet my daughter, I want to have Christmases together, okay? I want all of these things to have never happened!”

Norman understands these wants. He’s lived with them for years.  Sometimes you just have to make your own reality. You have to create it out of thin air like a god. When God fails you, you must become your own.  If Norman has traveled into the past, Dylan can too. He can bring Emma. They can all be together!

Norman nods, relieved. This is _exactly_ what he’s been trying to do. “If you believe hard enough then you can make it that way!”

  
But Dylan won’t cooperate. He is so obstinate. “No you can't!”  He shakes his head at Norman, and repeats himself, softer this time.  “No you can’t.”

Norman’s head aches.  He is sweating heavily. He doesn’t know how to help Dylan or himself. He cannot admit Mother is dead.  He turns back to the sink, eyes wandering the kitchen for some sign of what to do.  No wonder Mother’s big plans never worked. His plan is failing too.

  
Norman blinks back tears.  There is a knife beside the sink.  It is waiting for him.  Does he have the strength to cut his own throat?  He stabbed Sam Loomis. Surely he can stab himself. He wishes he still had the gun.  Is Mother’s revolver still upstairs?  If he had it he could shoot himself.  He won’t back down this time. Mother is silent in the dining room.  He wishes she would say something.

Mother will never speak again.

Mother is dead.

Mother is _dead_.

No amount of pretending will make it otherwise.  No amount of prayers or delusion or magical thinking. Mother’s life is over. He takes a deep breath. Okay. Well, that’s it then. Norman’s fingers close around the knife hilt.  He turns back to Dylan.  The blade is long and sharp.

Dylan stares at him, incredulous.  “What are you doing?”

If Mother’s life is over, so is Norman’s. He wants out of this hell, this hopeless, endless, horrible future that awaits him without Mother.  Without Mother there is no color, no music.  There is no love, no comfort.  His legs feel numb. His stomach cramps.  But his hand is steady.

Norman’s voice sounds far away.  He can’t tell if he’s speaking out loud.  “I can't let you take me away from her.”  He points the knife halfheartedly at his brother.

  
Dylan pulls a gun of his coat pocket and points it at the floor. Norman is relieved.  He might not have a gun, but Dylan does. Everything is going to be okay after all.  

“Put down the knife,” Dylan pleads, taking a step back. He says it a second time, as if Norman cannot hear him.  “Norman, put down the knife.”

Dylan’s eyes are the same cornflower blue as Mother’s.  He has the same blonde hair.  Dylan is the closest thing Norman has left to Mother.  Has he noticed Dylan’s eyes before? He must have.

  
Norman moves closer to his brother.  What Dylan holds in his hand isn’t a weapon.  It’s a door and it’s time for Norman to step through it.  It’s time to follow Mother.  He is sorry to put Dylan in this position. But not sorry enough to drop the knife. He has done worse things.  So much worse.  

“This is how it ends, isn't it?”  Norman asks wonderingly. Norman wasn’t expecting this particular end to the evening. Or was he? He can’t remember. Either way, his life will be over soon and it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.  From his heart.

  
Dylan shakes his head.  “It doesn't have to end this way.”

Norman knows better.

Dylan takes another step back, toward the kitchen door.  “Put the knife down.”   

Norman’s eyes fill with fresh tears. Dylan thinks Norman is actually going to hurt him.  Norman could never hurt his brother. Not more than he already has, at least. Even Not-Mother couldn’t make him kill Dylan.  He won’t kill him now.  But he can pretend.  He’s always been good at pretending.

  
But he also tells Dylan the truth. The only truth he has left.  “I just wanna be with her, Dylan.”  There is nothing he wants more.   There is nothing left to say.  He is so close.  He just needs to step through the door. He will find Mother and they will be together and happy and there will be no more pain or tears or guilt.  
  


“Don't ask me to do this.” Dylan’s voice is a desperate whisper.

But Norman does ask. His desperation is greater than Dylan’s. In this moment he is saving Dylan by taking himself out of the equation. Norman doesn’t need prison or therapists or medication because without Mother there is no getting better. Without Mother there is no helping him.  Life doesn’t matter. The world doesn’t matter.  He is saving Dylan by leaving him safe with Emma and...and did Dylan say they have a daughter?  If they do, it’s best Norman never sees her.  He could never face Emma and her daughter. Norman will not pull Dylan and his family into his darkness.

Norman stares at his brother.  He is afraid, but not of dying.  He is afraid he won’t find Mother.  But he knows with sickening certainty Mother isn’t in this house so he lurches forward.  Norman raises the knife and aims carefully. He rushes toward a point above Dylan’s left shoulder.

The gun fires.  

The knife blade hits the door, right where Norman aimed.

Norman falls. He is not in the snow. Dylan catches him. Dylan is older, braver, and stronger than Norman will ever be.  And now his brother is also safe.  He can grow old holding hands with sweet, kind, Emma Decody.

Norman wants to smile in relief, but there is a great pain in his chest.  It is hard to breathe.  He is drowning in the bathtub.  He does not want to see Ms. Watson.  He turns his head.

Dylan guides him to the floor and he is sobbing into Norman’s ear that he is sorry, so sorry.  Norman is not.  He wants to pat Dylan’s shoulder, he wants to tell him it’s okay, that’s it’s good, that it’s all right, it is time for him to die.  He’s been dead ever since Mother took her last breath. It’s only natural his body catch up.  Dylan’s arms are around Norman.  Blonde hair is pressed against his face.

Norman lies in the hallway bleeding to death.

He steps through a doorway and gasps.  His eyes go wide.

He is standing in the forest.  And there--he sees her.   _Mother._

He is still drowning but he is also running. It is the best feeling. He presses his lips to Dylan’s hair, his dear brother, and whispers, “Thank you.” Dylan has given him the greatest gift of all. He has given Norman back to Mother.

Mother stands in a wooded clearing. There are trees around her, but the sun shines through the foliage, enveloping Norma Louise in a golden glow.  Or maybe she is the sun. She is the center of Norman’s universe after all.  She is waiting for him.

Norman runs faster, legs pumping. She holds her arms out to him.

He is a little boy and she picks him up and swings him around, their laughter mingling.

He is grown man running toward his best friend, his only friend, his truest friend.  His arms go around her neck, and even though he’s dying, this is the most alive he’s ever felt.

Mother’s arms pull him close. She is smiling at him.  He can feel the warmth of her arms around him  She rests her head on his shoulder.

In the hallway, Dylan rocks Norman like a small child.  Norman closes his eyes.

Mother holds him, not Dylan.  Her perfect hair brushes against his stubbled cheek.  She smells like lily of the valley and strong coffee and apple pie. She smells like home. Norman is home at last.  His real home. Not a building, not a house, but the woman who gave him his first breath.  The woman who is with him for his last. He wants to tell her he is sorry for everything, for _everything_ , but she presses one hand to his cheek and gazes into his eyes.

“Norman, you silly boy,” she says, exasperated, “what took you so long?”

 


End file.
